...And Then This Happened This Weekend.

Apparently there is something about my Evita T-shirts, AKA, my work uniforms, that set me up for awkward/amazing adventures.  If you don't know my first story, read it here. 

I have another story, and it involves my wearing this T-shirt:

On Friday night, I picked up a shift last minute (again.  I should learn my lesson to not pick up last minute shifts.)

And, again, just like the last time, I was not at my best appearance-wise.  I did not realize how humid it would be when I straightened my hair that morning, and then it rained, for which I had no umbrella.  So I had my hair up in a pony tail, from which the baby hairs all over my head were sprouting into a curly halo.  I had smeared a minimal amount of makeup on my face when I left my apartment earlier, when I thought I was just going straight back home after my planned errands.  So of course, instead, I pick up a shift at work and head off to the theater.  Like I do.  I was super cute, for rills.  But at least I wasn't wearing three shades of blue and my generic Uggs. 

Anyway, work is fine, but some friends wanted to go dancing.  I really was not going to go.  I wasn't.  But, long story short, I changed my mind and off we went late Friday night to La Caverna in the East Village, me in all my glory in my Evita T-shirt, since the top I had been wearing earlier was a sweater, and there was no way I was going to wear a sweater in a hot, crowded club.  Let's be honest.  If I go to a club, I am going to dance.  I'm gonna shake it.  So I needed my T-shirt.  At least it was not this other Evita shirt, which it could have been.  Embarrassing.  (I am kind of a star though...)

 

Anyway, we are dancing and having a great time.  It was so fun.  And I was so sweaty, poofy hair and all, not caring, when I realized I had also forgotten to put deodorant on that day......oh well.

So the best was this guy who came up and started dancing with me.  Keep in mind that it is so loud that I can't understand half of what he is saying to me.  He was probably about 25, and it is so out of my comfort zone to dance with a stranger like that, but I thought, what the heck.  Let's do this.

Except that the whole time we were dancing, he was holding my hands in some massage hold, and then would, like, start rubbing my hands.  As in, giving me a hand massage.  I have to say, I am so inexperienced in the whole clubbing thing that I went with it up to a certain point just because I didn't really know what was happening, and I wanted to be a good sport about it all.  In the moment, I was a little uncomfortable, but not like I thought I was in any trouble, and I wasn't.  But thinking back, I am a little creeped out in that "what the .... did he think he was doing?  That was so AWKWARD!" kind of way.  And he thought he was being so smooth.  Seriously.  It was awesome.  And awkward.

Like when he put his hand on my sweaty, nasty neck and started rubbing that.  Eeeww.  Or, when he wiped HIS sweaty forehead on my shoulder!  Are you kidding me??  That was not ok, and I had no idea what to do, nor did I have the presence of mind to just give him a dirty look and walk away.   When I am going to learn that I really can give someone a dirty look and walk away?  The whole thing was more funny to me, and it is really funny now.  But I definitely kept within arm-pinching length of Deb and Brendan.  And I definitely used that tool to signal it was time to go. 

So Brendan and Deb come over and introduce themselves, and, I found out later, that he told him his name was something like "Heart Attack."  OK...but at that moment, I didn't know that, so I asked him if he was going to tell me his name too.  He leans over and says into my ear, "Maybe later.  Depends on your dancing."  ......

Then, in the end, I am saying goodbye, and he starts to tell me how I need some dancing instruction, because I need to dance from my heart.  ........

Pretty sure he wanted to be that instructor, but instead he just walked away.  I have no idea what just happened.   But I am still laughing about it.

Why is it when I am totally unprepared for an adventure, that they always come?  Maybe my lack of preparation is what makes them so good.  Who knows.  But my Evita work T-shirts are going down in history as being some sort of catalyst for awkward/amazing moments.   

Awkward+creepy+sweaty+smelly+impromptu+friends=amazing night.